Chastity
by electric caterpillar
Summary: a conflict in heinkel's little family . rated for forecast sexual content. male!heinkel.


Wolfe looked long along his nose at the little lady which addressed him, fists making dimples in the soft hips beneath her sober dark dress. She wore also a jubilant smile full of very white, crooked teeth, jumbled together like sea glass, her black hair in a long braid Wolfe himself had installed hung around her little white shoulder.

That smile was a secret. Perhaps their father and brother knew of its existence, but Wolfe drew a wonderful nourishing jealous pleasure from the certainty that he alone had made its acquaintance.

Wolfe put out his hands and found the lascivious softness of the lady's hips, and she squirmed in his grasp and laughed her little girlish laugh and Wolfe was very, very pleased, and drew with familiar ease Yumiko into his arm.

"Well?" she was saying, blustering against him, her little tipped chin turned completely up coming only to the boundary of his breast, "Can we?"

"Can we what?" Wolfe said without thinking, his unkind dialect softened and sweetened by the nectar of his affection for his pet, and Yumiko put out her lips and tightened her brow in a little pouting scowl that made Wolfe laugh and laugh.

"Can we take the babies to the passion play?" Some of the children under their care would soon be twenty years old, and to Yumiko, babies they remained. "It will be so informative. They'll love it. It will be so nice out." Wolfe dutifully moved with the tip of his finger a lock of her dense dark hair behind her ear.

It was spring. Yumiko was a pheasant plump and ripe and pink with femaleness in the summer, a quail in autumn, a raven in the unkind winter, and in spring, when the freckles had just begun to sprout out of refreshed snow of her cheeks and her wild hair swelled and curled in the new humidity and bore the fragrant garlands of posies woven for her by her children, he saw her transformed into an ethereal and pastel playful spirit, energetic and bright, a doe-eyed titmouse, frolicking like a child in the bright blossoming atmosphere.

How like a child he was, Wolfe thought, touching the peach of her cheek, how very like a child. She smiled still.

"Of course," he told her, and she leapt like a little goat with her delight, even as Wolfe admonished, "if Father Anderson approves, when he comes home. I suspect he will."

"He will!" Yumiko cried.

"Sister Yumiko," a child cried beyond the parlor door, which Wolfe always closed for his early morning rendez-vous with his sister... just in case. "Sister Yumiko."

Wolfe had already pulled open the ribbon which bound Yumiko's mess of braid. Her hair burst about her like a blackbirds wings leaping into flight. He caught it up in the billows of her coarse black coif and bound it to her skull with a rope of white fabric.

"Yes, yes," she was saying, tying the white cotton apron with the little hem of ruffles and ribbon around her dress, and at that bidding, the rotund curly-haired boy bound into the room directly into her arms, and Wolfe saw with the usual little thrill of affection that Yumiko stood barely half a foot taller than an eleven-year-old.

"I want pancakes!" cried the child, hanging on Yumiko's apron.

"Pancakes!" repeated Yumiko, smiling.

"Please, Sister!" the child beseeched. From the hall came the familiar choir of high, bleating, pleading cries; children tumbling together peered around the doorframe, adding to his motion, "please, Sister, please, Sister Yumiko, pancakes!"

"Yes, yes, very well," she capitulated, beaming, as Wolfe knew she would, as Wolfe knew her, and the children cheering bore her away in the tide of their excited chatter.

Wolfe knew he'd be missed. He had not long to appreciate the beginning of the day and his inside solitude before Yumiko cut her fingertip or lit the ribbons of her apron aflame or dropped or scorched or otherwise ruined some essential ingredient and would put out her cry of consternation amongst the childrens for his help, dear Yumiko.

Wolfe stood long in the room with the sound of his sister and her children departing down the hall, in the clear honey-colored light of the refreshed day, with his hand on his heart as he thought.

Wolfe tended to consider his sister and himself in terms of contrasts; he fair, she dark, he large, she petite, he forward, she timid to a fault.

Wolfe was not a bad priest, he knew. He was, in fact, in many ways, a very good priest. He was a wolf of the church. He was without fear.

He was, he feared, a very bad man. Not so Yumiko.

She was good in all of her feminine little heart, good in all her ways, gentle, noble, compassionate, charitable, obedient, dutiful, the image of Catholic grace, beloved of God.

Wolfe had a secret.

He loved that little woman with a pestilential love, a hungry, savage, unchristian love, a great serpent of a love which dominated his life.

He wanted to know the pallors and flavors of her body better than his own. He wanted to sleep wrapped in her legs, her wonderful hair. He wanted to marry her. He wanted to make babies with her.

He would put up his collar and cross for her, he would set fire to his faith for her, if she only asked, but she would never ask

and somewhere inside him

in a forbidden place he kept quarantined from even himself

though he respected their father, loved their father, he also hated him.

He hated his height and strength, his age, his sagacity, the breadth of his boorish brown hands which entirely covered Yumiko's wee white ones, and the way Yumiko looked at him, with an affection as stalwart as the sun and lavish as the moon, with dazzled amazement of him, with faith in him, and the simple sweet way Yumiko had of laying her little cheek on his shoulder,

and the lady-like practice of Yumiko standing on tiptoe and taking his large hard arm for him to escort her out-of-doors,

the way she prepared his perfect cup of coffee, the way she would adjust his cuffs and collar for him,

and when she said her prayers at night, as he could sometimes barely hear in the soft humming domestic dark after the children had all been put to bed, when she asked the Lord to bless her family, she spoke his name before Wolfe's.

A crash which shattered the still of the parlor, a distant tinkle and splatter, and the muted laughter of children mixed in the hapless cry of "Heinkel! Heinkel!"

Wolfe felt very tired. He wanted to sit and worry his head in his hands and be quiet for a long time.

Closing the collar at his throat he vaulted to the rescue of his sister.


End file.
